Every Time You Lie
by brunette987
Summary: the truth is all that you can hear, every time he lies. oneshot.


**A/U: **Wow. Haven't been here in a while? I guess you could call it insane writer's block, plus a busy schedule. I wrote this for a friend, as a birthday gift. Inspired by Demi Lovato's "Every Time You Lie." Let me know what you think.

By the way, this isn't really about the characters in 500 Days of Summer. It isn't really about anyone. It's just a story.

**Every Time You Lie**

He first caught your eye when you accidentally tripped him.

You were sitting, eating your lunch, your legs straight, knees locked, feet sticking out from under the table, like always. You were wrapped up in the book you were reading, left elbow propped on the table, thumb and pinky finger keeping the pages from turning, a shiny red apple clutched in your right hand.

He came out of nowhere – or maybe it was obvious, you really can't recall – you weren't very aware of your surroundings at the time, and he tripped over your outstretched legs. The stack of papers he was carrying went everywhere; the fall appeared just shy of catastrophic.

"I'm so sorry!" you cry, throwing the book and apple on the table and attempting to help him gather his papers.

"Why don't you watch where you put your feet?" he asks, and he starts gathering the papers as well.

You didn't see it coming, because there was no way you could. But when you looked up from where you were crouched on the ground, preparing the snottiest remark you could muster, he looked up in the same second, and your eyes met. An almost electric kind of current passed through you, and your mind went blank. You were enveloped in the split second, frozen in time, where things seemed to move forward and backward, left to right or right to left, whichever was right, or wrong. Had your life been a movie, you may have had an awestruck look on your face, and the camera would have panned around you and this boy, while every motion, every sound, every infinitesimal occurrence in space froze, and that was it – you were in love.

But your life wasn't a movie, and while this…_spark_ of sorts occurred, you did not fall in love. Instead, you froze for a fraction of a second, and then replied with a "Maybe you ought to watch where you walk." You received a dirty look for this response, followed by a huff, as he ripped his papers from your hands and stormed off.

You watched as he went, taking in his dark, tousled hair and broad shoulders. He had a sort of stride, a long gait, and carried himself in a way that said he was confident in himself. You remembered the bright, bright green of his eyes that was nearly hypnotic, the deep ebony pupils that made them appear to go on forever.

He turned a corner and was gone, just like that, but you knew, somehow, beyond any rational reasoning, that he had felt it too.

You saw him again two days later, as you walked past an open window. Inside, you heard his voice, which you realized you could recognize anywhere. It sounded like velvet, with a deep, almost gravelly tone underneath. It was your name that caught your attention as you walked by, spoken in his voice, stated almost as a question. Your ears perked, waiting for more.

"I cannot _stand_ that girl," he spat, angrily. More angry words followed these, in the same disgusted tone, but you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you walked away.

Something in his pitch, in the velvet-over-gravel sound of his voice, just gave it away. It was a kind of knowledge that isn't acquired, or learned, or taught. It was something you just knew, something ingrained in your brain, like a memory or an instinct. He couldn't stand you, he'd said. But these were not the words you heard.

It was a lie he had spoken, and you were more sure of that than anything in the world. You knew he was lying like you knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west, and the way you knew that fire was hot and ice was cold. It was a different string of words you heard, a different phrase bouncing around your head. And the reflexive smile that came to your lips surprised you more than anything.

He could stand you, all right. _[[I _love _that girl.]]_

It's funny, you decided, the way things work. The way certain things appear so fuzzy, and others, so clear. It was clear to you, from the moment you'd heard his words, that he was crazy for you.

You couldn't explain how you knew, and you couldn't rationalize, because honestly, you didn't understand. There had been something in his voice that tipped you off, and while it made no sense, it was perfectly clear.

It was for this reason that you were totally unsurprised when he began to appear everywhere – places you'd never noticed him, he was suddenly showing up. Your favorite coffee place, the fountain in the park where you loved to read and listen to the soothing sound of running water. You knew it wasn't coincidence bringing him to all of these familiar sites; he went there looking for you, feigning disgust each time you arrived. You knew this because you felt it, too – a strange magnetism, a force rooted so deep down you couldn't even find the beginning, that kept pulling you together. Ever since that first day when you made eye contact and the earth stood still, it had been there. It wasn't like the connection was made that day; rather, it had been there all along. That first meeting was all it took to awaken it and call it to the surface.

Perhaps that was why you could read him so easily. You saw right through the mask of hatred he put on every time he saw you. You heard the words he was thinking, instead of the words coming from his mouth.

"What are _you_ doing here?" _[[What took you so long?]]_

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" _[[Please stay.]]_

"I've heard better music than yours from strung-out wannabes." _[[You have amazing talent.]]_

The string of insults he kept coming were useless. It was as though you could read his mind through his eyes. The deep ivy green told you everything you needed to know. You took his remarks with a slight smile and an easy shrug. It unnerved him, and you loved it. You could practically feel the frustration emanating from him; it only made you smile wider.

You were beginning to wonder if he'd ever crack when he finally asked you out. It was so sudden and random, and yet you were completely unsurprised. You sat at a picnic table, reading as always. He strode up to you with authority. You saw him from the corner of your eye, but didn't allow your gaze to leave the page you were no longer reading.

"Saturday," he said. "Dinner?"

You casually looked up from your book, which you slowly lowered to the table. "Excuse me?"

He sighed impatiently. "This Saturday," he repeated. "Would you like to go to dinner. With me." The second time around, it didn't even sound like a question.

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. "With you?" Your tone merely hints at surprise; you knew this would happen. More clearly heard was the sound of slight amusement.

"Yes, with me." He was getting frustrated. "Look, if you don't want – "

You cut him off, "Seven." You swing your legs over the bench and stand, picking up your book.

"Seven?" He looks at you, confused.

"That's when I'll be expecting you," you reply, and then you're gone, walking away with a nearly cocky stride, because clearly, he can't read you as easily as you can read him.

It isn't too long until you're the perfect couple. It's as though you can read each others' minds; you finish one another's sentences, you can always tell when the other's feeling blue. You have more in common than you'd imagined, but are still nearly opposites. Despite your irrevocable love for music, you each have a common adoration for the stars; whenever it's a clear sky, you make time to look. Two hopeless romantics, you both love the idea of love, and are quickly finding it in each other. Despite these few characteristics though, you are night and day. Forever disagreeing, fights are a given, but somehow, they never last for too long.

That first date was everything. He arrived at 6:59. He took you to dinner, and it was just as you'd known all along. All traces of anger were gone; no resentment resided in his expression. Though it's never spoken, you both know that his bitterness toward you was a façade; one he's given up on. That night started a domino effect that brought you to where you are now – hopelessly and immutably in love.

When he kisses you, you feel fireworks under your skin. Your brain goes fuzzy and time stops. Breathing suddenly requires some intense concentration and you're pretty sure that if you jumped, you could fly.

Your first kiss took place right on your front porch. You might have been offended by the cliché had it not been so heartbeat-skipping perfect. It was your first date, after dinner. Normally, you'd think things were moving too fast, but after only a few hours, you feel like you've known him your whole life. The bond you've built is too strong to have been made in a night; you're convinced it's been there all along, as if you were each born with it. You're not exactly one for fate and destiny, but this feels an awful lot like soul mates to you.

He pulls into your driveway, and turns off his car. You look at him questioningly. "I'll walk you to your door," he explains.

He waits for you as you walk around from the passenger side. As you approach the house, he grabs your hand. An electric current passes through your arm, and you can't help but smile. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the same stupid grin on his face.

You reach the front porch, and he turns to face you. "Thanks for coming out with me," he says. "I had… an amazing time."

"Thank you for taking me," you reply. "I had a good time, too."

For a second, neither of you say a word. His eyes seem to shift in color, from a light ivy green to a deep emerald. You feel a force, the same one that's been there since you met, pulling on you; and suddenly, your faces are mere inches away, and then his lips are crashing onto yours, and you feel everything, the fireworks, the fuzziness, the feeling of time itself coming to a halt. It's the best kiss you've ever had, and when you finally pull away, you're smiling so wide it's almost painful.

"You're beautiful," he tells you, and you realize it isn't there before you even realize you're looking for it. The hidden meaning behind the words, the truth behind the lie. All you hear is the resonating words he just spoke to you, the very fact he meant. _[[You are beautiful.]]_

Your smile widens, if that's even possible. "Goodnight," you say, and then you're quietly slipping into your house, and closing the door, and falling against it, and sliding to the floor, and does it get any better than this?

Several months later, and you were the couple everyone wants to be. You were just oh-so-cute together, and sickeningly sweet. Your fights always ended in tearful apologies, and everyone was jealous of the obvious chemistry between two people that are clearly meant to be together.

But you've always known that things appear a lot more perfect from the outside than they really are.

You were never so happy, though. He made you laugh when you didn't want to smile and wonder how you got along without him. What could ever change that was beyond your realm of imagination; you were invincible.

It was a fall day that you were together when things began to change. It was your favorite time of year, when the leaves begin to change and the air is crisp and cool. You're dressed in your new jacket and your favorite hat, and the two of you are taking a walk through the park with your fountain. Your hand is resting in his, fingers interlaced, your other hand jammed in your pocket to keep warm.

He seems so distant today, and you don't know why. The beautiful autumn colors aren't catching his attention; he seems to be going through the motions instead of living. You debate asking if he's alright. You hold off for a little while, but then you just have to know.

"Hey," you say, shaking his hand a little.

"Hey," he replies. His tone is flat; it's like you snapped him out of a very deep sleep.

"You alright?" you ask, the concern obvious in your voice.

"I'm fine," he replies.

That was where it started.

Most people would nod, continue on their walk, let it go. But you won't. You can't. Most people are gullible; most people will believe anything. But you're not most people. You know him better than anyone in the world; and you know that everything isn't fine.

"I'm fine," he'd said. _[[No, I'm not.]]_

It was a month after the unsettling incident that you began to wish you couldn't read him like a book. Your nerves hadn't been right since then, and although he seemed much better, you knew deep in your heart that he wasn't; _you_ weren't.

Compliments and sweet words came much less often than they used to, but that had never bothered you before. It was just an adjustment, from the fiery passionate stage of just-getting-together to the comfortable stage of being with the person you want to be with.

That was why you didn't notice right away.

You're sitting on the couch, watching tv. He has football on; you're in a daze, staring without seeing. A million thoughts run through your head. With his shoulder as your pillow and his arm around your shoulders, this was once the most comfortable place you knew. Now, you're far too distracted to see that.

"Oh, come on, he was off sides!" he yells at the tv. You snap slightly out of your trance. You inhale and exhale deeply, creating a loud sigh. He looks over at you. "You alright, babe?" he asks.

The normal "Yes, I'm fine," that you'd like to answer with doesn't come to your lips. You turn your head to look him in the eye and ask the question you're afraid to hear the answer to.

"Am I beautiful?" you ask.

He looks at you quizzically for a moment before he replies. "Of course you are," he says. "Of course you're beautiful."

You nod and turn back to the tv. You can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he, too, turns back to the game.

This is the part where you ought to feel relieved. You're beautiful, he told you so. But relief is far from what you're feeling. You choke back tears.

"Of course you're beautiful." _[[Aren't you?]]_

The funny thing about love is that even as it starts to fade, its effects can still be so strong. You always believed that falling out of love was impossible – you were in it forever and always, or you never were to begin with. But now, you're not so sure.

Hidden meanings started taking over your thoughts.

He stopped saying things that you could find the hidden meaning in; he began to speak in only facts, or questions.

"You want to get something to eat?" _[[I'm hungry.]] _

"I think the game is on." _[[Can we watch it?]]_

"Mark and Christy want to hang out." _[[We can double.]]_

You were driving yourself crazy over everything he said. Your mind subconsciously searched for lies, without your conscious approval. Your world was turning upside down.

The ultimate shock came on a freezing winter day.

You called him to ask if he wanted to come over to watch a movie. It was once your favorite pastime to sit in front of your fireplace, under a blanket, watching movies you both knew by heart.

"Oh," he says. "Well, I'd love to," _[[I'd really rather not]] "_but I kind of told Christy we could hang out today." _[[because I'd rather be with Christy than with you.]]_

You can't be positive, but you're pretty sure your heart stopped.

Mark and Christy, mutual friends of yours, had broken up just a week ago, after you all went on a double date together.

"Oh," you manage to choke out. "Okay. That's fine." Your voice shakes, and you hate yourself for that.

"Don't worry, babe," he says. "You know we're just friends." _[[Now, we're so much more than that.]]_

You nod, but then you remember that he can't see you. "Yeah," you say. "Um. I have to go. I'll talk to you later." You hang up, and there are already tear streaks staining your cheeks.

You can even hear the truth in his silence before you hung up.

_[[I'm cheating on you.]]_

The pain finally ended on a Sunday.

He met you at your favorite coffee shop – the one that he used to go to, just to see you.

You both order, and sit with your drinks at a high table by a window. Snow is falling, and it's just getting dark. A streetlight turns on just outside, illuminating the falling flakes. You wrap your hands around your mug for warmth.

You sit in uncomfortable silence. It isn't the first. You never used to have uncomfortable silence.

"So," he says. "Snow."

You nod. "Snow."

"You love snow, don't you?"

You nod again. "Yes. It's so pretty."

Silence again.

"Look," he says. "The reason I asked you to meet me here.…" He trails off. You stare at your coffee. He sighs before he continues. "I don't think this is going to work."

You've known this was coming for a very long time.

You don't move your eyes from your coffee.

"It's not that you did anything." _[[I just found someone so much better.]] _ "I just think we're better off as friends." _[[I don't love you anymore. I haven't for a while.]] _

Your eyes don't leave the brown liquid in front of you. You have no inclination to drink it.

"I'm sorry," he says. _[[I'm not.]]_

Silence.

"I'm not really in the mood for coffee anymore," you tell him. Then you stand up, and walk right out the door. You wonder if he can hear the hidden meaning in your words.

_[[Goodbye.]]_

The night you broke up, you went home, and tried to cry yourself to sleep.

But the tears wouldn't come.

You felt emotionally exhausted. You'd cried far too many times already; you had no more tears left to cry.

That was when you realized that this break up wasn't the start of the hurt; it was the end. After hurting for so long, anticipating an end, and dreading the heartbreak, you realized you'd already lived through the worst of it. It was with this thought that you drifted into sleep.

You awoke with a smile on your face.

Freedom had never felt so amazing; pain had never been so numb.

Closure had never been so easy.

It's been just a few short weeks, but you feel happier than you have in months. You can feel the people around you exuding happiness _for_ you. The stress is finally gone; you can breathe again. It's funny, you decide, how you didn't even realize you were drowning until you were brought to the surface.

You're reading a book one day, on the swing on your front porch. It's a beautiful spring afternoon; birds are chirping, and everyone seems to be outside, soaking up the sun.

Your phone rings, and you glance at the caller ID. "Wes," it reads.

"Hello?" Wes is a boy you've known for the last several years; you're close friends, and have been talking more and more in the last month or so.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. You smile to yourself.

Before, the truth was all you heard every time he lied.

With Wes, the truth is all you hear… period.

"Hey, beautiful," Wes greeted you. _[[Hey there, beautiful girl.]]_


End file.
